"Allow him that small grace," cried Wood. Her head dangled unnaturally for an instant, unleashed from its moorings, then sank to join her husband’s on the floor. Listening at one of the doors leading to the Master Debtors' side, he heard a loud voice chanting a Bacchanalian melody, and the boisterous laughter that accompanied the song, convinced him that no suspicion was entertained in this quarter. Well might she do so, Gerald thought in irritation. I picked up her handkerchief on the floor. She liked to cook even though normal food was not nourishing to her. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously.
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